


People Like Us

by mothmage



Series: The Face of God 'verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, He gets in a fight but it's unrelated to being trans, MLM WLW solidarity, Misgendering but only once and it's not malicious and is corrected, Trans Enjolras, i write for me and me alone....i am the target audience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmage/pseuds/mothmage
Summary: Set during chapter 5 of The Face of God, but can be read as a standalone.Nicole (Jean Valjean’s niece) runs into a young Enjolras in the streets and gives him hope that maybe he’s not as alone as he’d thought.
Relationships: Enjolras & Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: The Face of God 'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529399
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	People Like Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during ch 5 of my other fic, but all you need to know is that Javert recently arrested Valjean/Madeleine and brought 9yo Cosette to Jeanne Valjean in Paris. Jeanne Valjean’s youngest kid, Nicole, is 25 now. Enjolras is 17ish. I wrote this bc I fell in love with my OC Nicole and wanted to write more with her! If I do any stories with Les Amis, she’ll definitely play a role bc I love her

“Leave, Nicole,” Victoire said, pushing her hands away. “It’s time to grow up.”

“Victoire!” Nicole cried, reaching out again.

Victoire shook her head. “ _Go_. I’m to be…this is _over_ , Nicole. Goodbye.”

And with that, the door was shut in her face. Nicole wanted nothing more than to fling herself against the wood and beat it with her fists until Victoire returned, but she did not dare. Instead, she merely sunk to the ground, feeling as though her heart might give out from the pain of it.

She wouldn’t even be granted the dignity of sobbing on the doorstep, however, for, just when she thought she truly might die of brokenheartedness, a window opened on the floor above her. Out leaned Monsieur Canion, Victoire’s wretched father, who spotted her immediately. “Get away from that stoop!” he shouted. “I’ll not have beggars here! Away with you, away!”

Nicole, having heard tale of how horrid the man could be, did not stick around to find out what he would resort to should she stay. She jumped up and ran around the corner, where she stopped to wipe her tears and gather her thoughts. She could go home, but Maman would ask too many questions, and her room was no longer private with that Cosette having moved in. Nicole still didn’t believe that she wasn’t the bastard child of her Oncle Jean, but that policeman seemed to hold the man on a pedestal. She almost snorted. At least she’d had a few good months with Victoire to make it worth her broken heart. That Javert had probably just been pining away pathetically for years.

Now, having really nowhere else to go, she wandered aimlessly through the dark streets, kicking at rocks and bits of litter that she passed. Victoire. Oh, oh, Victoire…

A shriek and a door slamming tore her from her thoughts. She looked up to see someone, apparently having been tossed into the alley, struggling to sit up. She briefly considered turning the other way – what business was it of hers? – but the voice, spitting insults, sounded hardly older than a child.

“Hey!” she called, walking over. “You alright?”

The kid didn’t fight her as she took his arm to help him up. Only, once he was standing, she realized: “ _Nom de dieu_ , kid, what’s a little girl doing in a place like that?” she asked, jerking her thumb towards the door that he had been kicked out of.

He spat at her and balled up his hands into fists. “I’m not a girl.”

She held her hands up in surrender, then gestured at herself, clad in her typical trousers and waistcoat. “Whoa, it’s okay, I’m not gonna do anything.”

He shook his head vehemently and swiped a hand across his face, only succeeding in smearing the blood across his cheek and chin. “I’m _not_ a girl.”

Nicole looked him up and down, then shrugged. “Alright, sorry, you’re not. You are too young to be hanging out in places like that, though. How old are you, kid? Fifteen?”

He straightened up in an attempt to look taller, then gasped and doubled over, clutching at his ribs.

“ _Merde_ ,” Nicole swore. “Will you let me look at that? That sounded like a pretty nasty kick that sent you through the door. I’ll ask less questions than a doctor,” she added, when he tried to refuse. After he nodded, reluctantly, she ducked down to swing his arm over her shoulders. “Come on, I know somewhere safe.”

“I thought you’d sworn off of this place, now that your darling Victoire is – what happened to you?” Their hostess interrupted herself when she saw the kid, still dripping blood and leaning heavily on Nicole.

“Hey, Mireille,” Nicole called, already heading towards the back booths. “Can we get some bandages or towels? Anything you’ve got. And maybe,” she looked down at the kid. “Yeah, a whiskey as well, I think.”

She wrangled the kid into a booth and tilted his head back to slow the nosebleed.

“I’m not a kid,” he said, voice warped from the strange angle. “I’m seventeen.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay. Very grown up. You got a name, big man?”

“Enjolras.”

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. If he wanted to go by a surname, that wasn't any of her business. “Nicole.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, then looked away. “You said that you wouldn’t ask as many questions as a doctor.”

“And I won’t,” she said, already pushing up his sleeve to pick bits of glass from his palm. “Just your name. People like us,” she started, then paused. “We have to look out for each other. When we can.”

“People like us?” God, he sounded so young.

She looked down at herself pointedly. “We may not be in exactly the same situation, but, you know.” She shrugs. “What did you do to get kicked out, anyways?”

Enjolras doesn’t meet her eyes. “There was a group there, royalists, blaming everything on the Revolution. They said that –”

“The Revolution?” she interrupted. “You’re barely old enough to remember Napoleon, why are you getting yourself beat up defending the Revolution?”

He looked at her with fire in his eyes. “Because those men in there, they sit around and complain about the way things are. But they would never have the courage to rise up and try to change it. How dare they blame this on the Revolution? When they worshipped Louis and now Charles?” He sat up just to spit. “I might be young, but at least I am not a coward.”

Nicole just blinked at him, quite taken aback. “No, I don’t think anyone could say that you are.”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and leaned back again. Mireille came over with a tray of small towels, rags, and the promised whiskey. Nicole handed him one of the rags to press to his nose.

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

He glared again, but there wasn’t any heat in it this time. “I’m not some lost gamin. I’m a student.”

She raised a brow. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“My friend will worry. But yes, I have somewhere to go.”

“I’m glad you have someone to worry about you,” Nicole said. “Some aren’t so lucky as us.”

Enjolras looked at her from the corner of his eye again. “You said, before, you said…people like us.” He looked away. “Are there others, who…who are like me?”

Looking at him just then, Nicole almost felt her heart break a second time. She remembered feeling like that, alone in the world. “There are. You aren’t alone,” she said softly.

He took a shaking breath in, which reminded her:

“ _Merde_ , your ribs. Sit up and hold still, let me check if any are broken. Tell me if it hurts.”

He whimpered less than she would’ve expected for someone so young, but more than she’d hoped.

“Nothing feels broken, at least, but you’ll have to take it easy for a while. Try not to get kicked out of any more clubs or,” she added with a little smile, “at least not physically _kicked_ out.”

He smiled at that, and didn’t even wince when it pulled at his split lip. “Guess I’d better get going,” he said, pulling the rag away from his nose. The bleeding had stopped. “Thank you. For…for everything.”

Nicole smiled. “Anytime, kid. You want me to walk you home?”

He stood up and stretched a little bit. “I think I’ll be alright now. Thanks.” He turned to leave, then looked back at her and asked. “You said this is a safe place. What…”

“For anyone, really. People like us especially. You’ll be welcome here, no questions asked.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Again.”

She waved him off, then leaned back and looked at the whisky that he hadn’t needed. With a sigh, she knocked it all back. “Mireille! Are you busy? Victoire finally told me to get lost and…I could really use a friend right now,” she said, when Mireille slid into the booth across from her.

Years later, when Nicole is keeping an eye on Cosette’s new beau, she ends up at the Café Musain where some student group is speaking dangerous ideas. She takes a seat at the back and is surprised, but happy, to see that the leader is none other than little Enjolras, all grown up. She raises a glass to him and his ideals. Who knows? Change could be on the horizon.


End file.
